


check out any time you want

by amorremanet



Series: turning and turning in the widening gyre [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Andromeda Feels, Blood purity, Character Study, Community: gyremods, Complicated Political Situations, Discrimination, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Emotional Baggage, Family Issues, First War with Voldemort, Freedom Fighters, Gen, Good vs. Right, Gryffindor Caradoc, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Internal Conflict, Lesbian Hestia, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Motherhood, Offscreen Miscarriage, Old Fic With Revisions, One Shot, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Other, POV Andromeda Tonks, POV Female Character, Past Character Death, Past tragedy, Period-Typical Homophobia, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Prompt Fic, Psychological Trauma, Rebellion, Resistance, Slice of Life, Slytherin Andromeda, Slytherin Hestia, Social Issues, Squibs, Universe Alteration, Vengeful Andromeda, Vengeful Caradoc, Violent Thoughts, War, Wizarding Politics, righteous anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Did you always want to do this? You didn't <b>once</b> consider leaving?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	check out any time you want

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in April 2010 and [posted here](http://amor-remanet.insanejournal.com/166903.html), as part of [the good old, "I have [x many] songs in my library, pick random numbers and assign characters/pairings to them" meme](http://amor-remanet.insanejournal.com/166488.html), where Chel drew The Eagles' unplugged version of "[Hotel California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tJ0I2J954A)" for Andromeda and Caradoc.
> 
> Of the characters contained or referenced herein, I was only responsible for Andromeda, Araminta Meliflua, and Mary MacDonald (and sort of Nymphadora and Eileen, though they were both NPC's — Eileen being under my puppeteering because I played Severus for a while, after our first Sev dropped — and Nymphadora got borrowed by other players pretty regularly).
> 
> Hestia, however, is based on my personal headcanons because we had trouble hanging onto one in-game; Gwenog, Florean, Kingsley, Pandora, Xenophilius, the extended Jones families (Gwen's and Hestia's), and Eileen's herein unnamed brother (Meurig) are also imports from my personal headcanons outside of the game; and Healer Harper was a group-controlled NPC whose sole purpose was to basically be, "that one mental health Healer at St. Mungo's who is, to paraphrase Xander Harris, stuck being [everybody's Butt Monkey](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ButtMonkey)." I may have been the first person to use him in anything, but it could've been anybody because I also don't actually recall.
> 
> That said: Caradoc here is based on [Chel's version of him](http://ghostroad.insanejournal.com/) and how she played him; Chel also gets credit for Bellatrix and James, having played them as well, and for creating Marion Dearborn originally (though Emily #1 played Marion until her in-game death). Sirius is based on how Igpy played him. We had a couple Lily players, but Ashley's Lily is the one that most stuck with me and whom I was most inspired by. Peter is based on how Penny played him. Averna Selwyn was Tony's creation and the reference to her is based on his work playing her. Evan Rosier, Camilla Bones, and Regulus were all played by Ros (who also played Fabian, but the one who gets a nod herein is more from my headcanon than her portrayal of him). Remus based on the loosely-defined Remus-concept that the group unofficially constructed because we had trouble holding on to a Remus for any extended period of time.
> 
> And Ted is based partly on Carrah's Ted, but mostly on Gia's, give or take pieces that filtered in from my own headcanons about Ted.

Still, she even holds a dagger as a mother with her child — delicately running her thumb up and down the handle, cradling it with a trembling tenderness.

What would it mean to hold it otherwise? What if — and could it happen — the sort of hold she needs were to carry over into her daily life — could clenching her hand around this fatal tool carry over into the home? How would it translate?

Or will she lose the gentle way she cups her daughter's chin, or wraps her arms around her husband's waist, because she gave too much of it to this bloody instrument. What? Would that be it, then? Is it just Andromeda Tonks's time to join in with those who have already answered these questions for themselves?

The doctor's hands are rough as they take hold of her wrist, her fingers. He doesn't change the spirit of how she holds it, just curls her fingers closer to the hilt, guides her through the proper way to thrust it — and how to aim for vital organs.

"What about…" she trails off, terrified now of speaking their names and trembling more from the self-reproachment that wafts up and overwhelms her, leaves her nauseated like stinking incense smoke.

How stupid could she even get. She disavowed the family first. They disowned her in return. Sirius followed in her suit when his time came to come out Blood Traitor, at least partially inspired by Andromeda's earlier rebellion and her so-called _courage_ in running out on everything they'd ever known…

—and still, even knowing everything they are and even after everything they've ever done, it seems so Unforgivable to speak any of the family's names in a context such as this. Andromeda might as well cut out the middle bits, press on by herself and forge Bartemius Crouch's signature on a set of death warrants, hunt them down, and bite out every last, _Avada Kedavra_. Call down her own wrath on their heads, rather than trusting in the wrath of some unknown God.

Perhaps it's not the standard _magic power of written in a name_ you read about — but who knows? Perhaps there's older magics that Andromeda doesn't know about, and perhaps one of them would make it so that simply saying an estranged family member's name might kill them.

"You're bringing this punishment to all of them, Professor?" she says. "Every single one of them, Death Eater _and_ Purist, doesn't matter who the Hell they think they are?"

Although Andromeda allows herself this childish question, she knows the answer to it well enough. She and Ted stood with the Order well before the Basterds came onto the scene, so Andromeda knows what brought them kicking and screaming into life. She remembers the attack in Hogsmeade that killed Aberforth — or more accurately, she remembers the all-nighter she pulled at the pharmacy, filling prescriptions and whipping up potions for the Healers trying to save anyone who'd gotten out alive.

Before that night, she remembers watching Caradoc bridal-carrying the now-late Marion through the doors into St. Mungo's, only for the Head of Security and the Hospital's Chief Healer to turn them back into the rain. Law on their side or not, Marion's Squib status shouldn't have made a difference in the middle of what would soon become a miscarriage.

Andromeda remembers standing by Hestia at the receptionist's desk as the scene played out: one of the on-call emergency Healers had tried to turn the Dearborns out at first, insisting that they regretted all of this very, very deeply but the law was the law and the Walpurgis Party's law forbade them treating Squibs. That first Healer craned his neck in forcing himself to look Caradoc in the eye — this being about the only kind thing Andromeda can say for his conduct that night — and second and third went running for Security and Chief Healer Bundy when Caradoc first started bellowing. With Marion groaning and barely conscious in his arms, triage rules said that he should have had those three little Healers falling all over themselves to treat his wife, to save his and Marion's unborn child, if they could. Yet, not a one of them _regretted all of this very, very deeply_ near enough to do something requiring any independent thought.

Andromeda remembers sighing heatedly and Hestia picking up an uncharacteristically high-strung note as she asked if Andromeda still felt alright. She remembers Hestia agreeing with her that this wasn't fair, it wasn't _right_ , but barely holding back the urgency as she tried to guide Andromeda through taking deep breaths in and out, tried to urge her to stay calm and keep her head.

She remembers her former dorm-mate's hand falling heavily on hers, as if dropping from a gallows, and the way that Hestia squeezed her wrist tighter than a vise and whispered, _I know I'm in no position to tell anybody cool down right now — not with a history like mine, I mean—_

 _That's right, Tia; you're **not** —_ Andromeda didn't mean to snap at her quite so roughly, or to growl how she did, or to sound so close to feral that she scared herself. But every nerve. _You're less in that position than anybody else I know; it's one of the best things about you. So then where do you even **begin** to get off thinking that you can tell me—_

_You're not the one sitting here with a pack of falsified fucking **papers** , Meda!_

—Andromeda remembers the lightning-flash look that erupted over Hestia's eyes, and how their shade and color didn't change, but they still seemed a darker blue than normal. Both of them broke off looking at each other — just for a moment; just to glance around the waiting area and make sure that no one had heard Hestia saying anything — but that moment couldn't last for long.

As she turned back to facing her best friend — not her oldest friend, but certainly the one she wouldn't trade for anything, blood status and Walpurgis Party laws be damned — Andromeda didn't dare wonder what sort of outrage Hestia had to be sitting on by now. Not only was the second little healer returning with Security in tow, and not only was Marion Dearborn slowly bleeding out, but Hestia had almost given up her blood status. Taking out her wand and muttering a few quick incantations didn't help at all to steady Andromeda's nerves. Their protection would be nice, but it was, if not too little, then certainly too late. Even though no one seemed to have overheard them, slipping up about the lie was more than risk enough for anybody, and retroactive protection couldn't undo what had been done.

She was right to worry, as she soon saw. She forced herself to face Hestia full-on once more and Hestia only scowled at her, deeper than Andromeda had ever seen her scowl at anybody. Her entire face got in on the act, brow furrowing; lips downturned and pressed into a thin, tight line; jaw tense and trembling from the effort Hestia put into holding her damn tongue; eyes making silent threats about what could happen to Andromeda's hand if she dared to put Hestia in this position one more time. Given how little Hestia liked most people, that fact alone was enough to make Andromeda swallow thickly, nod, and right up.

Hestia waited for a moment, anyway, and gave another glance around — to make sure they were still unnoticed — but finally, she hissed, _Neither one of us has any right to talk about controlling our fucking tempers, but Meda, **honestly**. Not **all** of us can get away with going to Averna Selwyn's cucumber sandwich tea parties and asking some uptight Purist cunt when the uptight Purist baby's due._

She knew better than to press her luck, but couldn't hold her tongue in time to stop it saying, _Alright, I haven't actually done that since I was sixteen, thank you very much, Hestia—_

_And I've never actually done it ever fucking **ever** , Meda! Because you've met my parents, and you know as well as I do — if not **better** — that Averna **cunting** Selwyn would have all three of us **and** my sisters for fucking **dinner** , if she and that Meliflua bitch thought they could bake us in a fucking pie that tasted decent._

_That's infinitely more Bellatrix's speed than theirs, I think—_

_Not the point, Meda! So completely **not** the fucking point!_

_So what is the **completely fucking point** , then, dear-heart?_

_The **completely fucking point** , sweetie? Is that maybe I **can't** talk about calming the fuck down in situations like this one, or any other ones, or any of it — but **you're** not the one who has to pray that nobody asks too many questions about where the fuck she came from, here. Because **you're** not the one who has to pretend that she's Eileen Prince's cousin, that she only became a 'Jones' when she married her **international Quidditch star girlfriend's** big gay brother, and that her purported gay husband is sooo **'just friends'** with Eileen's gay brother and nobody in the entire pretty picture here is **actually fucking gay** — and if she **doesn't** pretend like this, then chances are? She dies tomorrow!_

Guilt crowded into Andromeda's throat and settled there, like the itch to a cough that would never quite come up. _Hes,_ she started, _sotto voce_ and far gentler than most people ever got to hear her saying anything—

_Excuse you! But did I **say** that I was **done here** , Meda?_

Waiting for Andromeda to confirm that no, she'd said no such thing, in retrospect, was likely a formality on Hestia's part. She didn't even wait that long, before picking up again, with, _Good! Because I'm **not** done. Because — oh! **right!** — on top of all of that? As if it's obviously not bad enough as is? On top of all that rubbish, **you** are not the one who can't fuck up any single thing about this giant fucking mess she calls a **life** because, if any part goes pear-shaped and someone calls the Death Eaters? She can't even run back home! Because back at **home**? They thought Hogwarts was just a phase. Least they did until she turns eighteen, gets caught snogging Gwenog, and when says she's not going to some prick-sucking Muggle typing course or working as her Daddy's secretary 'til Mummy sells her off to some nice **man** , she gets disowned her for practicing witchcraft and growing up a **lesbian**!_

Once again, they broke off looking at each other and glanced around, covering all of their corners and any blind spot they could think of, just to make sure Andromeda's charms were holding true. Even if they weren't, it didn't matter: the little rat who'd gone for Chief Healer Bundy was dragging him into the fray by now, and everyone seemed to be quite focused on Marion Dearborn groaning — louder but less powerfully — and her husband barking objections, screaming obscenities, and otherwise very much upholding the tradition of Gryffindors showing their concern through anger. Not that the crowd's willingness to ignore anything but the Dearborns helped that much. It meant safety, maybe, but how could _Healers_ — how could any of these people who had sworn to uphold the Hippocratic Oath — stand idle by and tell Caradoc that his Halfblooded Squib of a wife would get no help from them?

With a heavy sigh, Hestia squeezed her hand and called Andromeda back to looking her in the eye. _All that I'm saying, Meda,_ she whispered, with a preemptive air of finality and "that's that"-itude. _All I'm saying? Is that neither of us can keep our head very well — but yes. I do think that I've got every right to tell you to calm down right now. Because even being married to Ted? Isn't the same thing as actually being in the same dangerous positions that we get stuck in. Fucking Hell, even being married to Ted with a clause that goes all fucking on about, "snogging Hestia, Gwenog, Kingsley, Fabian, Pandora, Florean, or Xeno is fair game, but ask any respective spouses before having sex because somebody might want a threesome"? Not the same thing. You **don't know** what the risks are like we do — and that's okay!_

_But… Meda, **please**. For once, can you **please** let something go without doing that thing you do? The acting like letting it go is the same as joining your fucking gorgon of a sister in torturing babies or the fuck whatever she does for fun?_

For all she nodded, Andromeda still muttered, _Isn't it, though? Isn't it essentially the same?_

_No! No, it essentially is **not** the same!_

_Whosoever does not use everything in their power to fight back at evil, wills it to be done—_

_And whosoever runs half-cocked into every fucking disagreement, regardless of any considerations, usually gets herself killed and leaves behind a Metamorphing orphan—_

_I may not know the risks like you do, but being born Andromeda **Black** still means something to these people. Should I not use that to the benefit of people other than myself?_

_Meda, **wait** —_ But Hestia's protests had finally found the limits of Andromeda's patience and willingness to let her best friend talk her down.

Andromeda remembers pushing off the desk between them and storming toward Chief Healer Bundy's back. She remembers smoothing out the wrinkles in her robes, and the pleats in the skirt beneath them, in the same way that she imagined Achilles might have donned his armor. She remembers readying herself for anything while starting on her charge, and she remembers not even getting halfway there before somebody stopped her.

She remembers someone grabbing her (seemingly from out of nowhere), and the feeling of Healer Harper's fingers clenching around and digging hard into her upper arm, and the way he told her, as under-breath as possible, _What, exactly, do you think you'll be accomplishing by causing a scene right now, Andromeda? What will getting yourself a night in the DMLE's holding cells prove to anybody? Don't you think things are messed up quite enough with the Ministry sticking their hands in our operations and making laws that say that we can't the Dearborns? It's terrible, but they aren't winning tonight, and there's nothing you can do to help them. Don't make this worse for them than it already is, and don't make your husband choose between waiting for a friend to spring you and the risk of bailing you out himself._

She remembers returning home that night, just in time to see the silvery swallow-shaped Patronus fly through the kitchen window, hovering in front of Ted a moment, before announcing in Camilla Bones's voice that Marion was in a Muggle hospital, following a miscarriage.

She remembers Ted sighing heavily as the swallow dissipated, muttering a string of curses that she couldn't quite make out, then stopping dead when he turned around and saw Andromeda standing by the fireplace. She remembers flinging her arms around his shoulders, curling hard into his chest, and taking deep breaths, filling up on his smell of sweat and the indistinguishable _whatever-it-was_ he'd made for supper. She remembers trying so hard, but not letting herself cry or tell him what had happened at the hospital until they were in bed and half-asleep.

More than anything else, though? Andromeda remembers the changes wrought on Caradoc Aeryn Dearborn, and juxtaposition that emerges when she looks at them together. First, the emptiness and simmering rage surrounding Caradoc at the first Order meeting after that night at the hospital. Then, the spark that came back to his machete grin and his bright blue eyes, almost as soon as Dumbledore appointed him and Marion to lead the Basterds. Finally, the rolling thunder echo of resolve that underlied his voice after laying his beloved to rest and covering her in a six-foot-thick blanket made of earth.

So, it comes as no surprise to Andromeda when Caradoc sets his jaw and nods; when he gives her a look of stormy, silent expectation, as if daring her to question his resolve and his certainty. How can it surprise her? Andromeda knew what he does when she first sought him out — and still, she can't help asking, "Even the young ones in their number? The ones who might as well be children?"

Briefly, she considers dropping this entirely, letting the knife clatter to the ground and giving up these notions of Basterdom and bloody vengeance.

Or why not just drop the lot, if she's going to start backing out of things at this point? Why not get out of Britain while the getting's good? Taking Ted and Dora in the dead of night and running somewhere else — America, perhaps, or maybe France… It's cowardly, she knows that much — it's cowardly and treasonous and disloyal — well, it would be, if they dared go through with it…

More than simply treasonous, meaning an act against the current state and its regime, running out would be an act of treason against the better world that the Order's meant to build up for everybody, once they save the old one from destruction…

Anyway, it'd be treachery against the family Andromeda's made herself, and the only part of blood family that she has left. Florean, Hestia, and Kingsley would never run out while Britain burns to the ground. Gwenog may not be as apolitical as she'd like everyone to think, but there's no getting her to leave the country if Hestia won't come with her. Even with most of her blood family already on the continent, Gwenog won't abandon the woman she loves for anything.

Worst of all, there's Andromeda's cousin — the one who still acknowledges her; who can't shut up or sit still to save his life and doesn't have an appropriate bone in his entire body; who knows damn well what the answer's going to be but still grouses when Andromeda tells him in no uncertain terms that he's not allowed to take her daughter on his ridiculous flying motorbike, still whines about it like she's just tried to cancel Christmas (or at least told him that he's not getting a new unicorn this year); who had tact enough to wait until Ted had patched her up, but still chomped at the thrice-damned bit to point her in Dearborn's direction after watching her clench her hand around a teacup 'til it shattered, perfect porcelain piercing skin and jabbing into her at all odd angles, or else tinkling on the table and the kitchen floor.

He's the worst part of this whole situation because, true to his lifelong form, he's just so _good_ at making trouble and presenting snags, at making Andromeda wonder what on earth to do with him or about him. If she and Ted and Dora tried to run, they'd never be able to bring Sirius with them. There's no way… Well, there might be ways, but almost none of them are plausible enough to merit close consideration. Sirius simply wouldn't go along with it, not least because he'd never talk James or Lily into leaving. Them and their self-sacrificing, damnable heroics… Peter, maybe — Sirius might get him to come along — but he'd probably not get Remus… No, no, no. There's not a chance in Hell… Remus is too prudent to think that they'd last long on the run, and Peter likely wouldn't consider this an option if the MacDonald girl wouldn't come with him…

If any one of them refuses, Andromeda will never get her cousin out. Sirius won't leave Britain without his self-made family. Which means that she and Ted and Dora won't escape this Hell-hole, either. Leaving Sirius behind while they make a break for it? Letting him stay here while they get out and, one would hope, find ways to stay alive? That's a betrayal that Andromeda can't live with having on her conscience. Nevertheless, the thought scratches at the back of her mind and she draws in a long, deep breath…

Andromeda's fingers loosen on the haft again. The knife wobbles, blade pointing near the ground.

Caradoc seems to read her mind: "Regulus signed up for this the same as any other Death Eater," he points out, sidling up behind her. Does any benevolence or sympathy underlie the flat delivery? She can't tell, and she hopes not. It's her own accord that brought her to him; she doesn't need to hear a subtle condescension.

"He's been of-age for a year and a half, and he _signed up for this_. Sounds like he's an adult to me. Which means he signed up to accept adult responsibilities and the consequences of his _adult_ actions."

Taking her shoulders in his over-sized hands, he adjusts her stance. Shifts her around, but never once touches her arm, much less her wrist, her hand, or her knife itself. "So did Cousin Evan, no matter what pretty, useless, layabout society boy face he's putting on for everybody this week. And I don't need to tell you all of what your sister's done."

Underneath everything he says, lingers the unspoken dare: _They consented to this when they started killing innocents. The Ministry consented to letting us massacre them back when not a one of them did fucking anything to stop the bloodshed, and when they put Riddle and his party into power. So what do **you** intend to do about this situation, O Good Mother Tonks?_

A silence enters, quite unbidden. Andromeda fills it, thrusting at the limp, practice model on her own and picturing any twisted face that she can conjure in her mind: Averna Selwyn, Cygnus Black, Rabastan Lestrange. Bellatrix's face comes to her on the last. Cotton 'guts' spill out, as if trying to reward her. For what, she can't be certain, and watching them hit the floor brings no other answers.

Then she looks up at Caradoc's approving smile, and asks before she can think to stop herself, "Did you always want to do this? You didn't _once_ consider leaving?"

Caradoc sighs, and nods without answering the question. He tells her, simply, "As soon as you start running, you'll never get the chance to stop."


End file.
